Red Strings
by briallnanson
Summary: Beth's been waiting her whole life to meet him. Daryl's only certain of one thing: staying far away from her, far from the places a girl named Beth could possibly be, was the best idea he's had his whole damn life.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Another story. I know, I know. I haven't updated "Lessons" yet but I promise that update _is _coming in the next day or so. This is actually something I've had written since June and kept putting off publishing because I kept putting off the editing/revision process of this. I've seen one or two other stories with this trope but they've all been one shots and I've planned on developing this into a full length story. Yay? (I really love this story though, so updates should come a lot faster than usual.) A big, big thank you to C-Sand for unofficially beta-ing this even though it's technically her birthday present. I'd be lost without her typo and plot hole catching skills. Please, please review if you can. It would make me so, so happy to know what you guys think because I really am proud of this one (considering I revised it for nearly 4 months hehe). Hope you enjoy!

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><p><em>Daryl.<em>

Her entire life the name rang out to her; she turned it over and over in her head, let it slip off her lips as she said it out loud when no one was around to hear her, feeling the awkward familiarity of a name she knew so well, but had no face to put towards. It was the first word she'd learned to read; the first word she _wanted _to read. When she learned what sounds letters made and had stared at her wrist long and hard, trying to attach the shapes of her new discoveries to that name she'd made her mother read to her the moment she knew what it was.

_Daryl._

It felt nice to say, she often thought; her southern drawl catching on the right syllables, dragging it out just a little bit longer. She spent far more time than she cared to admit wondering how much longer until she could speak the name and catch a glance, a set of eyes responding and looking her way. How much longer she had to wait for him.

Shawn met his soulmate when he was twelve; when a shy red haired girl moved into town. He'd had it easy, Beth sometimes thought a little jealously. Maggie, ever the realist had waved the whole thing off years later during a conversation between the sisters the night before Shawn's wedding.

"Not everyone finds theirs. I'm nearly 24 and look at that," she had pulled up her sleeve to show the faded name on her own wrist. "No Glenn in my life. Not even close, by the way this thing is fading. Rick and Lori Grimes don't even have theirs anymore," she went on with a shrug, "and they've been happily married for years. It ain't the middle ages anymore. We can be with whoever we want."

Beth knew it was true. It was far more common than it had been in her parent's generation; the ones before that. Her daddy would have a fit every time Maggie went on a date with anyone _not _named Glenn and mumble about "kids these days doing whatever they wanted" but the truth was that more and more people were settling down without their matches. Not everyone had the patience to wait, while some waited forever and simply never found them; wasting their life away waiting for someone who was sitting on the other side of the world waiting for someone to come to them.

But Beth wasn't like them. She wasn't satisfied with the knowledge that someone out there was _made _for her; made to know her and understand her and fit perfectly in every corner of her and could not simply resign herself to never look at them. She'd asked Maggie once, when the feeling of loneliness seeped through the shadows of her bedroom and she found herself across the hallway in her sister's.

"Will you really be ok if you never meet him?" She'd whispered through the darkness. A silence that made her equal parts sad and uncomfortable followed. "I won't be," she said almost to herself. Maggie had sighed and turned over in her bed.

"I know you won't Bethy. You'll find him."

She'd been fifteen then, with news of Shawn's new life buzzing through the farm. Of marriage and children and happiness and she'd felt an outsider in her own home. Maggie, not concerned with the possibility of soul mates, and she so very silly; letting it consume her thoughts. Now at 19 and with a full time job at the town's bakery, she tried to give her mind less time to think about him. About what he might look like or be like. She couldn't put a face to him if she tried, couldn't put a voice or personality to the man who just the thought of put a smile on her face; knowing all her expectations and whatever her imagination could conjure would pale with whatever he was. She often thought of the boys she'd known in high school; thought about the qualities she liked in them that _Daryl _would certainly have. He would be clean cut and sweet like Jimmy. Funny and charming like Zach. She really couldn't think beyond that; and didn't want to. She wanted the joy of discovering all the little things about him; all the quirks and details and letting him discover her in return. They were made for each other after all.

"Beth! If you're not down here in five minutes I'm leaving without you!"

At the sound of Maggie's voice, she snapped out of her daydream -one that included a faceless man that made her stomach flip and her cheeks heat up- to push the tangle of bracelets back over her wrist. The customary surge of guilt ran through her and she pushed it down quickly with a deep breath.

The shame of what she'd done three years ago, what she'd almost done, wouldn't really leave her. She'd resigned herself to that and she figured she deserved it. She'd been selfish, Maggie'd told her. How could she have done that her family? To _Daryl. _She knew that under the beaded bracelets his name lay jagged and just a little distorted. A scar that would probably never fully heal cutting the tail of the "Y" just enough to make the neat name look tilted. Look wrong. Look less than perfect.

She'd nearly left him. In her grief, all she thought about was the ache her mother had left behind and she'd desperately wanted to feel something that wasn't a vast emptiness and loneliness. The moment they found her; when Lori Grimes had literally broken her bathroom door down; everyone had fussed and coddled; but it was over quickly enough. She'd stayed silent when Maggie paced about the bedroom and chastised her while their father stitched up her arm.

"You would've done that to Daddy? To Shawn? To _me_?" Beth had looked up at her with numb, empty eyes and when Maggie realized she wasn't getting through to her she'd pursed her lips and struck at Beth's weak spot. The problem with your sister also being your best friend, was giving them the power to know how to trap you. "To Daryl? You'd do that to Daryl?"

She'd taken a shaky breath and looked down at the fresh stitch, already knowing the mark that'd be so close to his name and feeling ashamed for it.

"You'd let him wake up tomorrow knowin' you were gone?"

"I think that's enough Maggie," Hershel had finally spoken up and Maggie was silenced with a huff.

Three years on, she couldn't say if she'd done things differently when she shattered her bathroom mirror and wished for nothing but to see her mother's face again. She didn't know if she'd think of him and stop herself if she could do it all over again. But she was glad she didn't have to relive it and she _was _glad to be alive. She was glad to know she might have the time to find _him _and tell him how sorry she is for nearly keeping them apart. She whispered it to thin air sometimes in the darkness of her bedroom and she hoped that somewhere he was dreaming of a strange girl named Beth caressing his face and saying over and over how sorry she was. If he was anything like she imagined, he was waiting and looking for her just as eagerly as she was, and she wouldn't dare do anything again to jeopardize that.

She'd learned her lesson, Maggie would be pleased to hear.

"You're going in early," Maggie observed when Beth finally scrambled into the car, her sweater only half on and hair still a mess.

"Lori said Rick's coming by to pick up the cake at nine," she explained. "Besides, Ty said I could go home early if I helped him open."

Maggie nodded. "Do you need me to come pick you up then? I'm driving to Lori's at around 2 to help her set up."

"No, I can walk. I still gotta go home and get dressed."

"Yeah and maybe comb your hair," her sister teased. Beth rolled her eyes but smiled knowing Maggie was right. She'd overslept and ran out the door without even bothering to see what she looked like. She was lucky she'd brushed her teeth, really.

"Well at least it's just work. Ain't like I'm seeing anyone important."

Maggie snorted, "Knock on wood, this be the day _Daryl _decides he wants to try some of your famous red velvet cupcakes."

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><p>"You can keep scrubbin' all you want; damn thing ain't gonna come off," Merle said over his drink as he watched his younger brother indulge in his nervous habit: rubbing at the mark on his wrist. He didn't know if it was just a habit, or if he was subconsciously really trying to get the name off of him. "'Sides, only one way to get it off for good," he threw in as he gave his own blank wrist one shake in his direction across the table of the diner.<p>

Daryl half thought he sometimes imagined the wounded look in his brother's eyes when he referenced his empty wrist or the name that had been there once. He didn't like to believe the bullshit stories about "one half of you being gone" that sentimental old women told to one another over sweet tea and their knitting; and he certainly had no reason to connect such neediness to Merle, of all people.

It was difficult to get a read on Merle; on any emotion that wasn't anger or amusement (usually at Daryl's expense) and as much as he tried to not over-think or wonder too much what it must be like to meet _her, _he still didn't really know what had happened with Merle while he lived in Atlanta for two years. Before he had shown up at his doorstep with a blank wrist and a look similar to that of a kicked dog; mumbling something about "car accident...or some shit," and then spending three months laying in Daryl's couch watching local tv because he didn't have cable. He wasn't using, wasn't drinking (not at a concerning level anyway), wasn't even yelling foul names at Daryl any chance he could. He never pried, but Merle slowly started filling him in on bits and pieces of what had happened; who she was. Of all the women Daryl imagined would walk around with _Merle'_s name on their wrist, a city raised, civil rights lawyer had never even crossed his mind. When Daryl thought back to those months he barely recognized his own brother, he could only find reinforcement that trying as hard as he could to never find the name on his arm was the best idea he'd ever had.

He thought he was doing a pretty damn good job at it too. Hell, he was going on nearly four decades without the "sorry bitch" as Merle had called her, whose name graced his arm, making so much as an appearance; staying far away from places he imagined a girl named "Beth" would be. Mostly, however, he wished the damn mark would just go away. He knew sometimes the name disappeared for other reasons. People got too far away, they got tired of waiting and found someone else. It wasn't always like Merle; they weren't always just gone. He thought of Rick and Lori and how theirs were long gone after they settled down and he wasted away nights hoping "Beth" would find some unsuspecting bastard to shack up with and he'd wake up one day with a nice, clean wrist.

No such luck.

In fact, he was fucking positive the damn thing had only gotten darker a few years back, the letters sharper and more clearly outlined. Merle had laughed then and mumbled, "must be close by," much to Daryl's distress.

"You gonna go around holdin' hands with officer friendly tonight?" Merle glared at him as the food made its way to their table. When Merle moved to Atlanta, he'd come home to find many things changed. Daryl moved from the shitty shack they'd grown up in to a slightly less shitty apartment on the other side of town, Merle's broken down bike had been repaired and was now fully in Daryl's possession (Daryl assumed that battle with his brother was simply yet to come) and Merle's least favorite development by far, had been Daryl's newfound friendship with the sheriff that had spent the early years of his career with Merle in the backseat of his car.

"Ain't no hand holding," Daryl responded. Merle resenting his friendship with Rick was a sore spot for him. He knew Merle had needed him when he came back into town, but his life had been different without him in it. Better. Rick, Lori, hell, even Carl and Judith had been a part of it. With Merle back in the picture, he felt like the little brother eager to please, eager to follow his big brother around and he too easily fell into that trap and all the shit it brought with it.

"Coulda fooled me."

As if on cue, Daryl's phone began ringing on the table and when Rick's name came up on the screen, he had the urge to not answer it, if only to prove his point to Merle. Suddenly he noticed he was doing it again; playing into his brother's traps and he defiantly plucked the phone from the table and answered.

"Yeah?"

"Hey Daryl," Rick's voice was hesitant; nearly drowned out by what seemed like dozens of other voices in the background. "Are you heading over soon?"

Daryl looked over at Merle uncomfortably. Telling Merle that he was going to the Grimes' that evening, already earned him a scowl. He didn't want to imagine the downright humiliation he'd bring down upon him if he told his brother he was going to the Grimes' to attend a two year old's birthday party; complete with princess theme and a bright pink box stashed underneath the seat of his truck since the night before, when he'd spent far too long sprawled on the floor of his bedroom, scotch tape stuck to his hands, attempting to wrap the damn thing with no results above "mildly crappy".

"Maybe around four or so," he said cryptically. He looked across the diner to the clock sitting above the register; barely noon.

"Would you mind getting here a little earlier? Say in an hour or two?"

"What for? Ya need a clown or something?"

"We have a...bouncy house situation on our hands," the clear exasperation in Rick's voice nearly made Daryl grin. "and I haven't picked up the damn cake. I told Lori I'd get it this morning, and forgot."

"She's gonna kill you," he wasn't even trying to keep his amusement at bay.

"You think I don't know that?" A sigh, and he could almost _see _the sheriff running his hand through his hair. "Would you mind picking it up? It's on your way into town; the bakery on the corner of Wilson and 7th. They should have it all ready for you."

He wanted to protest; lie and say he didn't have the time to be Rick's errand boy. He would have if it would've been any other situation. Given that it was the little asskicker's birthday, he simply made a big show out of groaning and giving him an affirmative grunt.

"A'right. Be there in a bit."

"What'd I tell you?" Merle threw him a withering glare over a plate of fries as Daryl pocketed his phone. "It'd be better if you were at least whipped by some bitch."

Mumbling something that vaguely sounded like a curse and an order to "shut the fuck up", Daryl stood and threw a few bills on the table.

"At least then you'd be gettin' some!" He heard his brother shout as the bell atop the diner door chimed when he pushed it and stepped into the afternoon sun.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Here it is! 5.5K words and all! Thank you all so so much for your support with this story and the amazing feedback you've given. This chapter is a long one. And it was a bit difficult to get out because _so much _happens. But I hope you enjoy it. Please let me know what you think, I love reading your comments and thoughts and suggestions. Just a few more days until TWD comes back! Get excited! Anyway here's the chapter. Enjoy!**

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><p>Will Dixon was a bad man.<p>

It's what was whispered around town; on the rare occasions Rosanna Dixon-Campbell was seen outside with a fresh bruise on her face, head down and eyes to the floor as her husband had ordered it. It was what Rosanna's mother had told her when the sweet 19 year old had announced she was in love with the sulking farmhand they'd hired for the harvest season.

"That man is full of hatred," Violet Campbell had told her young daughter, taking a hold of her hand and brushing her fingers towards her wrist where the faded letters spelling the name "Jack" rested. "You are not meant for him, Rosie...no one is."

The lack of a mark on Will Dixon's wrist sat heavily on Violet's mind since the day she'd inquired about it only to receive a grunting response that he "ain't ever had one". She couldn't imagine what kind of man could be deemed unloveable by the universe; but she should have known that if anyone had a penchant for loving unloveable things, it was Rosanna.

From the moment she was a child and brought back wandering animals into the house to nurse back to health, to the moment she left her mother in tears on the front porch of their Georgia home; her bags in the back of a beat up red truck, and Will Dixon's baby in her belly.

Violet had cried for weeks while Andrew Campbell had only muttered that he no longer had a daughter and hid behind his newspaper, a mask of calm hiding the grief of losing his only child; watching her walk into a life he knew would be a living hell.

"Will Dixon is not a very good man," were the more delicate words Daryl heard for a year. After Rosanna burned down that house of nightmares with herself in it and a six year old Daryl had arrived on Violet and Andrew Campbell's doorstep. Violet had never been more thankful to hear that her son-in-law was in prison; had never been more thankful to have her grandsons in her care and away from the evil man they called father, now that Rosanna wasn't there to protect them.

"Pa never even had a mark," the ever-observant Merle would offer in response. At 12 years old, there wasn't much to do to hide certain truths from him, and his perceptiveness surpassed Daryl's wide eyed naiveté about their father. Where Daryl still believed their father was someone to love, Merle had already been at the receiving end of his blows too long. "It's why he's angry an' drunk. Ain't no one ever care about him."

Daryl glanced at his brother's wrist: _Andrea_, it said. And he'd only just understood what it meant; having grown up in a home where no one but Merle was marked: his father had been born without one, his mother's had long faded away.

"Am I like him?" Daryl had asked once when the topic came up at breakfast. Violet had given him a look of concern but no answer and Daryl stared furiously at his wrist, willing something more legible than the faded gray blur to show up.

"Don't matter," Merle had quipped, throwing an arm around Daryl's shoulders. "Nobody's gonna care more about you than me, little brother."

Through the years, he'd learned to live with the illegible mark on his wrist. Coped with it well even when his father came for him and Merle after he was released from jail and spent countless years taking his rage out on them. He lived with the knowledge that somewhere deep down, no matter what he told himself, he was like the man that reigned down on him with a fist or a belt or whatever was on hand at the moment.

Despite everything, he had to admit there was a bit of relief that coursed through him on the night when he caught sight of his wrist and there were clear, crisp, black letters there in a neat scrawl.

_Beth. _

Maybe he wasn't a bad man after all.

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><p>Daryl had given more thought to what Beth could be like than he cared to admit. If someone asked, he'd say he sometimes all but forgot the name was there; which would be a blatant lie if there ever was one. He could practically feel the mark at all hours of the day, as if the name had a texture that rose above the skin to rub against his sleeve on the days he wore them, or just on thin air at all other occasions.<p>

Some days were worse than others. On the good days his head stayed clear of all thoughts involving his wrist. He would go to work, then home to deal with Merle, and his mind would allow him the rest until he was in the privacy of his bare bones bedroom, staring up at a darkened ceiling and wondering what she'd think of the fact that he'd stomped into the bedroom with his work boots on and just barely had the energy to kick them off before plopping down to an unmade bed. Did she fuss over shit like that? Or was she like the ones he brought home from the bar; that were too drunk to care what _he_ even looked like, never mind his old apartment.

Those types of girl were a steady constant in his life; ready whenever the fancy struck him to scratch an itch (although with Merle sleeping on his couch he found the urge for a hook up lessen) but he couldn't say his gut didn't tighten whenever he asked one of them for her name. He couldn't say he didn't breathe a sigh of relief when the answer was "Marianne" or "Kim" or whatever other name they had. He knew he had no right to expect the universe to think so damn highly of him, but he found himself desperately hoping that if he had to meet _Beth_ (not that he wanted to, he'd insist, but _if_), it wouldn't be at the shit hole bar he'd been going to his whole life. He hoped at the very least, she didn't come from the same shit hole he did.

And those were the good days. The bad days were few and far between but he could almost physically feel the damn mark itch underneath his skin and he had to ball his hands up into fists to keep himself from scratching until he saw blood and maybe then it would all go away. Almost twenty years since the letters stopped being a blurry faded mess and formed a name and this damn girl he didn't know, who didn't even have a face, could invade his mind some days until he was ready to either crawl out of his skin or throw a punch to the nearest person.

Today was a bad day. He was almost grateful to have gotten a call from Rick because on days like these, he tried to steer clear of Merle as much as he could. Perceptive bastard that he was could always tell. Sometimes, when Merle was feeling a pacifist, they'd share a knowing look and he'd grin and shake his head at Daryl. Other times he'd make an obnoxious comment that Daryl would meet with his wish for his brother to "go to hell" or a half hearted shove on the shoulder.

Today, with the sun too hot on his back and neck and his wrist itching something awful, he wanted to stay clear of Merle and anyone that had any ability to say a smart ass thing to him. With no known vocabulary as of yet, the lil asskicker seemed like the best company Daryl could think of.

When he threw open the door to The Cake Counter, his frown only settled deeper into his face as he took in the too bright shop. There was too much white and yellow and sunlight bouncing off the windows and glass cases that made his eyes squint and burn.

Cake, he reminded himself. Get the cake, get out, get it to Rick. It seemed something that even in his recent sour mood was easy enough.

He made his way towards the back of the shop where the only other person in the place was standing, humming to herself and arranging cookies on a sheet with her back towards him. A tangle of blonde hair in what was probably at some point a pony tail swayed just slightly against the back of a yellow polo as the girl continued to hum, not even realizing someone had walked in.

"Hey," he growled out. "Here to pick up a cake."

She whipped around fast to face him, a blur of yellow shirt and yellow hair and big, startled blue eyes on a pretty face looking up at him. Daryl blinked. Once. Twice; completely aware that he was staring but he couldn't shake a strange feeling about her. Maybe she looked familiar; it was a small town after all, or maybe he was just a dirty old fuck that had to admit that for her hair looking a mess and a streak of flour smudged across her forehead, _Bambi_ was pretty damn cute.

"It's um..." he cleared his throat and tore his gaze away from her doe eyes, glaring down at a display case of pink cupcakes. _What the hell was he ogling the bakery girl for?_ "Cake for Rick Grimes," he finished lamely.

"You're not Rick."

"No I ain't; just his errand boy for the day. You gonna give me the damn cake or what, Girl?" He chanced a glance up at her through his hair and saw her so clearly taken a back. As if no one had ever spoken like that to her in her entire life. Looking like a cartoon princess, he wouldn't be surprised if no one ever had.

It did surprise him a little though, that as quickly as she looked insulted, she pursed her lips in a huff, sticking her little nose a little higher and fixing with him a look that Daryl thought might have been intended to be a glare.

"Y'all were supposed to be here _hours_ ago. Tyreese is the one that keeps track of all the orders and he's out on a break so you're just gonna have to wait for him to get back."

"You've gotta be kiddin' me," he muttered under his breath. He took a few steps away from the counter and dug the heels of his hands into his eyes in frustration. This place was too bright, he couldn't look at the girl with the ridiculous dancing cupcake stitched to the front of her shirt without staring like a damn teenage boy, and now he was going to have to do one of his least favorite things: wait.

"I ain't got time to sit around and wait, Girl! It's just a damn cake, can't you go in the back and find it?"

This time the girl didn't even try to hide her annoyance, rolling her eyes at him and starting to move around behind the counter, intent on going back to work and leaving him annoyed and pacing.

"He just left. So...you might wanna have a seat." She said with her gaze down at the cookie sheet she was working on. Daryl swore he could almost see a small smile on her lips. The girl was getting enjoyment watching him pace in front of the counter full of cupcakes while he debated if Lori would have his ass too if he showed up with no cake.

With a huff and as much noise as humanly possible, he dragged a chair across the floor before plopping down on it directly in front of her. She gave him one quick look before going back to her work, humming again in what Daryl had to admit was not an unpleasant sounding voice.

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><p>Beth was blaming this all on her lack of sleep. She'd over slept, ran behind on all the things that had to get done at the bakery, looked like a hot mess, and therefore she could blame her talking back to the grumpy man that stomped into the place demanding Judy's birthday cake on her exhaustion.<p>

She hadn't even asked his name, now that she thought of it. She'd known the Grimes practically her entire life and had never met this man. And if she were being honest, he looked like more like the kind of guy Rick would be _arresting_, not inviting over for Fairy Princess birthday parties. For all she knew, when Ty handed the cake over, the Grimes may never see it...not that it looked like this man was interesting in stealing chocolate ice cream cakes, but one could never be too sure.

She looked up to where he sulked on the other side of the counter, sitting in a pink metal chair that he looked ridiculous in and keeping his eyes trained on his boots.

So maybe he didn't exactly look like a criminal. But he looked dangerous, she decided.

And handsome; _which was as dangerous as anything_, Patricia always said. She'd gotten a good look of his face when he glared at her minutes before and for all the grumpiness and irritation there, he was good looking, if a little rough. With icy blue eyes and thin lips and just enough facial hair and...something she couldn't quite figure out.

Looking at him now, while she could shamelessly stare without fear of being caught, she took far more notice of his shoulders, broad and muscular stretched out under sleeveless flannel and a leather vest that put on display some impressive biceps. Definitely dangerous. Like the kind of guy that got into fights and spent far too much time at the biker bars in town her daddy warned her away from walking near at night.

The kind of guy Maggie'd like, she thought to herself with a laugh.

She glanced over at him and saw him straighten a little, giving her a clearer view of his face as he brought his thumb nail to his mouth to chew on it in an almost nervous tick. His face was a little more relaxed, no mean glare in his eyes and he looked far younger that way, boyish, even.

"You want some coffee or something?" She asked before she could talk herself out of it. It wasn't like her to huff like she'd done before. For all she knew, Rick's friend was simply having a bad day; she knew she was.

He looked up at her from underneath his overgrown hair, his thumb nail in his mouth, and shrugged.

"Water?" She tried again.

He shrugged once more but this time took his hand away from his lips.

"Coffee's fine."

She nodded and quickly filled up a styrofoam cup of it, holding it out to him across the counter as he easily walked the two steps to take it from her.

It was the stupidest thing; she knew it. The silly part of her that was so in love with the idea of love that always had her looking down at strangers wrist to see what name sat there and the wonder about who that person was. Wonder if they'd met them yet or if they were waiting like she was. So it was merely out of habit that she caught a glimpse of his wrist and some writing there but she was caught out before she could even make sense of the letters. He pulled his wrist away immediately, not giving her a chance to see more than blurry black scrawl that didn't form any letters or words to her mind's eye.

She looked up at him still, wide eyes and a tiny smile on her lips to match his glare.

"What's she like?" she asked without even thinking of stopping herself.

He grunted.

"_He _like?"

He glared harder than she'd seen since he walked in.

"Fine, she. What's she like?"

He reached up again with his other hand to the cup that had been abandoned on the counter.

"None of your damn business, that's what." He responded and Beth couldn't help the sigh that escaped her lips. She was just trying to be nice; make conversation. Even give him the benefit of the doubt that he wasn't a complete jerk.

"I'm sure she's just as pleasant as you are," she muttered, wheeling the cart full of trays of cookies into the back.

When she emerged from the back room where the ovens were, he wasn't alone in the bakery. He wasn't sitting either. In fact, he was at the register facing Tyreese as he gave him some bills out of his wallet and gathered the large pink box that she knew contained Judith's cake.

It was a strange urge she had that made her walk forward quickly, the heels of her boots clicking on the tile floor and causing him to look up. She felt almost a little insulted; that he was about to turn and walk away without acknowledging her, and she immediately realized how stupid that notion was because he didn't owe her a goodbye.

She certainly had no reason to expect one but she couldn't help the small smile on her face when the man very quickly, so much so that she almost missed it, looked her up and down and gave a nod of his head as a parting gesture. The front door opened and closed and she might have stood there all day staring after the empty space this virtual stranger had just vacated if not for Tyreese.

"You can go home now if you want, Beth. I've got it from here."

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><p>He's not much for "fairy princess" birthday parties. He's not even entirely sure why he's there at all; sitting in Rick's basement like some creepy, lonely asshole while everyone else is in the backyard looking after their kids. Rick had wandered up the stairs 20 minutes ago at the beck and call of Lori and hadn't been back yet. He sipped his beer and glared at Ed Peletier when he wandered down for a beer of his own and tried to make chit chat.<p>

"You still at Martinez's shop?"

"You still an asshole?" He practically growled, fixing him with a glare that he hoped brought back memories of the beating him and Shane had bestowed on Ed the summer before; when the bastard had hit his little girl across the face in that very house. Rick had only half heartedly broken it up; and not before making sure him and Shane both got a few good hits in.

Ed mumbled something and made his way out of the basement, bumping into Rick on his way out who also gave him a warning look. Daryl always thought Rick's glares were far more effective than his own. Maybe because Rick had the power to put someone in a cell for a night or two.

"Cake's about to be cut," he said when Ed had walked out. Daryl only grunted.

"Still think I look like a creep up there with all those kids."

Rick laughed, "Well looking like the troll that lives in our basement isn't really that much better. Besides, you're family."

Rick gave him a nudge on the knee as he stood and Daryl felt little choice but to follow; besides, he hadn't even seen the little asskicker all day.

When he stepped out to the Grimes backyard he hardly recognized it. Kids, all over the place; running around and in and out of the giant pink bouncy house, screaming at the top of their lungs. The table he'd helped Rick carry back hours ago had been covered with purple plastic and gift boxes and bags laid scattered all over; he recognized his own box near the edge and couldn't help feeling a little bad about it as he inched closer to the table where it sat.

Sure the kid had been screaming about the doll every time the commercial came on tv for weeks, but on the outside, the box didn't look like much. It looked like tape, is what it looked like; he thought with a shake of his head. He kept accidentally tearing the paper every time he tried to fold a corner and at one point into the wee hours of the night he'd just decided "to hell with it", and resigned himself to it looking how it did. Besides, it was the actual toy that mattered, he told himself.

Next to his own sad looking box though, as if to mock him, was a pretty little turquoise one with a pink ribbon that ended in a perfect and complicated looking bow and Daryl glared it. Probably something done professionally and paid for by some rich friend of Rick's from the police station. Still, like a moth going straight for the fire, he reached his hand out to touch the soft, lacy ribbon until he heard someone step beside him and he quickly moved it back.

"It's just coloring stuff," Daryl almost jumped a foot when he turned and saw Bambi from the bakery staring up at him, this time with her hair combed and swept over her shoulder, a pretty blue dress showing off legs that he almost kicked himself for catching himself staring at. "Lori said she made a huge mess on a wall a few weeks ago. I got her some coloring books and crayons, maybe she'll keep her art work there," she continued with a bright smile and Daryl realized the perfect looking present he'd been touching like an idiot was from her. _Of fucking course_.

"The hell are you doing here?" Was the only thing he could think of saying.

"I was invited," she said just a little defensively. "I've known Rick and Lori practically my whole life."

When he only nodded in response, she shuffled awkwardly; and Daryl thought about maybe counting until five and then bolting away from there. "How do you know them? I've never seen you before."

He wasn't really one to attend family gatherings like these, and if he did he usually kept to himself. But that wasn't something he was willing to share with the girl.

"Just around," he shrugged. "Friend of Rick's."

"Huh," she looked like maybe she wanted to say something else but thought better of it and kept her mouth shut. Good Daryl thought.

Just as he was contemplating walking away, he heard loud giggles approached from behind and both he and the girl whipped around to see Judith waddling towards them at full speed. He smiled and turned to set his drink down to be able to pick her up only to find that Judith was already happily babbling and hoisted up in someone else's arms: the cake girl.

He should've been annoyed, but instead he found himself smiling despite himself at the sight of the toddler talking in incoherent sounds and putting two tiny hands to each side of the girl's face. When the girl started talking back to Judith, carrying on a conversation as if the nonsense syllables the baby said made any sense, and he felt what he could only describe as a pang of...something in the pit of his stomach he knew it was time to find his way back inside: cake or no cake. He cleared his throat and managed to turn but just as he walked away Judith started to shriek.

"I think she wants you," the girl laughed as she offered a Judy with outstretched arms in his direction. He nodded once and stepped forward to take her, his hand accidentally catching on one of the dozen bracelets the girl wore around her wrist. "Sorry," he mumbled and she just waved it off and beamed up at him and Judy, who now had two fist-fulls of his hair and was pulling at her leisure.

"I should go help with the cake," she said, looking over her shoulder. Daryl made a mumbled sound that he hoped translated to "uhum" and she reached over to lightly pinch Judy's little cheek before walking back into the house.

He hadn't given much thought to the bakery girl after he walked away with the cake, but of all things that might have crossed his mind about her, seeing her again wasn't one of them.

* * *

><p>Half an hour later and the cake was still not cut and the little peace Daryl had found hiding behind the inflatable bouncy house was disrupted when Bakery Girl rounded the corner, jangling bracelets like a gypsy.<p>

"What are you doing?" She asked eyeing him up and down. He grunted and took another drag of his cigarette.

"What does it look like? Having a smoke."

"Those things are disgusting. And you were supposed to be with Judith!"

He shrugged. "I gave her to Carl."

"You're kidding?" she popped her hip and rested her hands there and damn her if she didn't look cute. But Daryl'd never say so. "A 13 year old doesn't know how to take care of a baby! Oh god, what if she got lost?"

"Settle down Mary Poppins!" He shook his head and stomped out his cigarette. "I'm sure she's around here somewhere."

"I shoulda never left her with you," she said and at those words, Daryl felt a pang of hurt and embarrassment flare up. He adored that little girl and he sure as hell could take care of her. He knew he maybe didn't seem like the type, but Rick and Lori trusted him just fine.

"Oh yeah? Why's that?" He took a step towards hoping to scare her off a bit, bring her attitude down a peg or two but instead she just looked him dead in the eyes and raised her chin.

"Cause you clearly aren't capable of keepin' on eye on her for twenty minutes."

"And what do you know about it Girl, huh? You probably ain't even old enough to drive yet, let alone take care of a kid."

"Oh screw you." She said throwing him a withering glare. She looked around the yard full of children, perhaps trying to spot a waddling Judy that was still a bit shaky on her feet. "Jerk..." he heard her mumble under her breath.

"Yeah, whatever. Best get to findin' her then." He waves her off, gesturing for her to leave his side of the bouncy house and she looks as if he's just insulted her entire family.

"You're gonna help," she declares and he only narrows his eyes at her.

"I'm tellin' you she's just fine! Probably inside this thing playing." He says gesturing towards the pink thing that's supposed to resemble a castle.

"You had her last," she goes on, "help me find her." There was something sweet and even about her voice that unnerved Daryl more than if she'd been yelling. Something like a sureness that she was used to getting her way.

Daryl groaned and for a moment considered retreating back to the safety of Rick's basement but on the off chance that the little asskicker had wandered off, he stomped over to the front of the bouncy house and pulled back the curtain. Sitting and giggling, happy as ever, was Judith Grimes, who was having far more fun being bounced by the force of the bigger kids jumping around. With one arm he reached inside and scooped her up, stepping back just enough to make sure the girl saw before placing Judith back inside, as she gave a delighted little shriek.

"You about done now?" He asked when he walked towards her again.

"You're still a jerk," with no bite in her voice.

"Uhuh," he grunted out, brushing past her; definitely ready for the basement again.

"And for your information," he heard her call out, "I am old enough to drive!"

* * *

><p>"Didn't know two year olds partied so hard," he said, lifting up yet another plate of half eaten cake from the kitchen counter and tossing it in the trash bag he was carrying with him. Everyone had left over an hour ago, leaving him and a few of Lori's friends, bakery girl included, to clean up the mess the toddlers had left behind.<p>

Behind him, Rick chuckled. "At least it tired her out," they both glanced at a sleeping Judith sprawled out on the couch, plastic tiara askew on her head.

"Hey," Rick held out a few garbage bags towards him. "Do you mind giving these to Lori and the girls? They're outside."

Daryl nodded and started to make his way to the back door, stopping abruptly when a photo he seemed to have never noticed before caught his attention.

"It's the day Judith was born," Rick called out from across the room when he saw what Daryl was looking at. He looked back at the picture. He'd been there that day. He'd gone in late because he'd had a long day at work and he only managed to see Lori and the kid for about 10 minutes before visiting hours were over.

"Who're they?" he gestured with the empty bags towards the picture. He knew who one of the girls was; the only holding Judith. It was the bakery girl. She sat smiling happily at the camera between a younger looking Carl, and another girl with brown hair.

"They're Hershel Greene's daughters. Maggie's Judith's godmother."

Maggie. Was that the girl's name? He frowned a little. She didn't look like a Maggie, but what the hell would he know about that?

With a noncommittal noise, he slid the backdoor open and wandered out, only finding the girl with arms full of used paper cups.

"Finally!" she complained, ushering him to give her a garbage bag and he quickly did, holding one open for her. He caught her again. Looking down at the mark on his wrist and this time when he looked up at her face the look she gave him was so strange he didn't dare even pull his arm away from her. Her eyes were almost impossibly wide, staring like she couldn't believe he had a mark there at all. A surge of irritation coursed through him at that thought. That this girl could think he was like his father; that there could be no one out there for him. He almost snapped at her again, almost snatched his arm away and bit her head off but their stare-down was interrupted by the sliding door and Rick calling out.

"Hey Beth! When you're done out here, Maggie needs you."

He disappeared back into his house just as quickly. Completely unaware of what he'd just done and then Daryl was returning her wide eyed gaze with the same shock. Beth. What were the odds that this was just some other Beth? He quickly looked down at her wrist but to his irritation all he saw were bracelets there, covering up what, despite all logic, might have been his name.

It didn't matter, he decided. It didn't matter what was underneath the tangle of beads and string because he didn't want to know. He dropped the bag to the ground, shoving his hands as deep into his pockets as he possibly could, vowing to wear sleeves every day of his life from now on, and began walking away as fast as he could without breaking into a full out sprint.

Then he heard it.

"Daryl?"

It was a question. She was asking someone who's name she didn't know if he was written on her arm and he stopped dead in his tracks when he heard his name said in her sweet, gorgeous voice. Because at some point in the past 30 seconds, against his own will, something in him had decided that her voice was the most gorgeous, just like she was, and he was so thoroughly _fucked_ realizing how little choice he had in this matter. How right he'd been in avoiding her all this time because he'd known who she was for all of half a minute and he already felt powerless around her and at that moment the best he could do was stop and tilt his head just so towards her. That was as much as his self control allowed to keep him from turning around completely to face her.

"Daryl," she said again. And perhaps he had a little more time to process it this time, but with a deep breath and a strength he didn't really feel he had in him, he lowered his head and walked away.


	3. Chapter 3

It's been so long since I updated, I'm seriously embarrassed. To be fair I had a good excuse: I was in school and I work full time and then there was the fuckery of the MSF so -whatever! Point is, I'm here with an update just in time for christmas. =) Updates *should* come faster than this from now on but don't hold me to that because I don't actually know what's going to come up in my life. Thank you all so much for your amazing reviews and I know I say it all the time but seriously thank you because reading them motivates me to keep writing and it means the world to me to know people are reading this story and taking time out of their day to review it, so thank you! Anyway, here's the chapter, hope you enjoy, let me know what you think! Happy holidays, lovelies! xx.

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><p>She didn't know how many hours she'd been laying in bed, staring up at her darkened ceiling while her mind spun at a thousand thoughts per minute and kept her from some much needed sleep. Images of the day flashed through her mind and she tried to will her brain to recall the exact moment she'd seen <em>him<em> for the first time but she could already only conjure up a vague image of him looking surly in the bakery that morning.

So there it was; Daryl in the flesh and she had known him for an entire day before she even knew who he was. There were no butterflies, no fireworks, no cartoonish hearts leaping out of their eyes at each other. Their first conversation had been an argument much like every other one they had that day and Beth wondered if this was all some practical joke. That out of all the people in the world, the universe had had some sort of hiccup and paired her with someone who couldn't possibly be right for her. Someone _she _couldn't possibly be right for.

She closed her eyes and pictured him perfectly; towering over her with his over-long hair and his smoke and leather. He was older too, she noticed. Older and good looking and the type of man (man; because he was _not _a boy like Jimmy or a guy like Zach) who wouldn't look twice at her.

Wasn't Daryl supposed to be perfect for her? Wasn't he supposed to be someone who would look at her and see everything he ever wanted? She could just imagine him now, thoroughly disappointed in the skinny girl with tiny breasts that he'd been unknowingly waiting for for who knew how long.

She'd asked him what his soulmate was like, back at the bakery, and when she hadn't received an answer she hadn't thought much of it. Her mind had simply wandered off to a woman that rode on the back of motorcycles and hung out at bars. A woman with curves and a sharp wit that took no shit. Hours ago, before she'd seen _her _name on him, she imagined the woman that graced his wrist to be made of steel.

Steel was something she knew laid nowhere beneath the surface in her and is if to prove her point, she felt her eyes begin to water in frustration.

She took one of her spare pillows and buried her face in it to drown out the aggravated sound that escaped her. Daryl was off somewhere, wanting nothing to do with her after having actually, physically, run away from her after realizing who she was and she was alone in her room, agonizing silently because she'd only just laid eyes on him and she could already feel the pull of him; the universe letting her know that now that she'd found him, it wasn't going to let them drift away.

And she didn't want them to. It was a maddening prospect; to know that after all this time the person she'd been looking for was _right there _and it wasn't going to be the roses and happiness she had pictured since had hit puberty and her mind had begun to wander to romance. But he was there; she'd called his name and for only the briefest of moments he'd stopped, almost turned to face her and she realized it was him. Whoever he was, whatever they had expected from one another, it was him and it was her and whatever was meant to happen all had a purpose; she believed that. Maybe she didn't understand it and maybe it wouldn't be easy but she'd been waiting for him all her life, the mere thought of his name pushing her through some of the darkest moments of her life and she wasn't about to let him run away without a fight.

* * *

><p>He recognizes everything; it's his own apartment. At the same time he recognizes that it feels different. Bigger, maybe. As he climbs out of bed and pads down the hall towards the front of the place he realizes it's actually brighter. As if someone's opened up an extra window even though when he looks around nothing looks different. Except Merle isn't laying in his couch, there's none of his empty beer bottles sitting on the coffee table and there's a pretty humming coming from the direction of the kitchen.<p>

He sees _her _standing there, humming away, doing something with a tray of cupcakes like he'd seen her do at the bakery the day before. There's a vague part of him that doesn't understand what she's doing there, a conscious part that wants to chastise his mind for conjuring this up but to his dream self it's as if he's done this a million times. He goes through the motions without reason or rationalization and finds himself making his way into his tiny kitchen, watching as a smile appears on her lips but she carries on humming to herself, not acknowledging him.

He stops just behind her and realizes the height advantage he has over her. How easily he could rest his chin on top of her head or lean down further and nuzzle the place between her neck and shoulder. He watches his hands as if they don't really belong to him; because he can't imagine himself ever being comfortable enough to touch her with so much familiarity. His large hands resting on either side of her hips and then moving forward, until his arms are wrapped around her and he actually is nuzzling her neck, enjoying the smell of vanilla and sweetness on her. She's stopped icing cupcakes, thrown her head to the side and is just sighing contentedly; as if being like that with him is her favorite thing in the world. Daryl doesn't know about her, but he thinks he could easily stay in this dream forever.

He wants to place his lips on her shoulder, find out if she tastes as sweet as she smells and he finds it in him, in some unknown part of him where confidence lives, to do just that when she turns in his arms suddenly and hooks her arms behind his neck, bringing herself closer to him. One hand tangles in the overgrown hair at the nape of his neck, the other she brings forward to caress his scruffy cheek and he's never been one to think he's much to look at, but the way her eyes search out his face, the hint of a smile on her lips as she looks at him like he's everything to her, he might just start believing it.

* * *

><p>When he wakes, his head's pounding and his eyes sting against the light seeping in through the lone window in his bedroom. It felt like a hangover, but he knew that the single beer he'd nursed until it was too warm to even pretend to drink the night before was not to blame. He shut his eyes and dug the heels of his palms into them trying to get the stinging to subside and blamed the hours he spent staring into the darkness of his bedroom, fighting sleep until he could no longer physically stay awake and then succumbing to dreams he was frankly to embarrassed to even admit to himself in the light of day. Dreams of cupcakes and yellow hair, sweet songs and 'good morning' kisses. Twenty four hours he'd known the girl and she'd turned him into a useless sap even in his dreams. Merle would give him hell for it and he deserved it.<p>

He refused to think about her; refused to even think of her name though he knew it wasn't the easiest thing when all he had to do was look down and see it etched on his skin. He wasn't good at too many things but avoidance was one he excelled at. He had perfected the art of it at a young age, running off into the woods to escape his father's drunk rage for days at a time until he figured it was safe to go back. He spent a few stupid, reckless years of his life running from cops when Merle talked him into doing equally stupid, reckless shit. He'd spent 20 years running from _her_. And he was sure that he could continue to do it, even after seeing her face. Her pretty face. With big blue eyes that were always bright; like a fire was raging in them -_in her_- ready to reach out and consume him completely if he let her.

He dragged himself out of his bed, routine leading him into the bathroom and under a shower and he swore he didn't mean to but the minute he closes his eyes under the spray of water and shampoo, he sees her behind his lids -the cute mess he'd found her in the bakery with blonde hair wild and flour smeared on her face, and his favorite: (though he'd never admit that he'd already categorized parts of her and memories of her as his "favorite") the defiance when she thought he'd lost Judith; the little jut of her chin and the fierce look in her eye of blazing blue. She might have looked like sunshine and porcelain but even back then, before he knew her name, he'd seen steel underneath. It suited her; went with the fire in her eyes.

When he'd walked out of Rick's house the night before he'd decided to push it all down, to pretend like he'd never laid eyes on her at all because, he reasoned, there was little chance in hell that he'd ever know what to do with a girl like her and every chance that he'd completely fuck everything up. He'd been hoping to spare the girl the trouble completely and just never show up in her life at all if he could help it. He'd even been planning his exit strategy in case he ever did stumble upon her. But then, he'd been expecting someone like him; someone easy to walk away from.

_Soulmates. _

What the hell did that even mean, anyway? He'd spent so long (more than he would _ever_ admit to any human being) imagining all types of women named Beth and attaching the word "soulmate" to. After a while he could only figure it had to be someone that shared something with him; what that something was, he didn't know. But a similarity of some kind. He could have imagined some poor girl with a fucked up past and a more than a little bitterness over it. Someone he could reason he would be giving a fighting chance to go on and make her life better without him in it. Instead the world had put this girl in front of him. A girl made of steel and bright light and he felt like the stupidest moth; flinging himself face first into the flame and to hell with the consequences. A stupid, _selfish_, moth too. Who'd seen a pretty thing that was clearly too good for him and he didn't want to let it go. He wanted to clutch to it possessively and bark back that it's what the world had wanted for him. So he could only try harder to stay away; give her that chance he'd talked up in his mind before "Beth" had doe-eyes and a sweet smile.

"You goin' out already?" Merle asked him groggily from the couch. He realized it was still early morning, he had at least two hours before his shift at the shop started but he'd hoped that putting his hands to work would ease the restlessness of his mind.

"Yeah. Got a lot shit to catch up on," he grunted as he searched around for his keys. "'M takin' the bike. You care?" He was still waiting for the moment when he broke the news to Merle that he wanted to keep the bike he'd brought back to life, so to speak, he was even willing to give him a few hundred bucks for the piece of junk he'd left him when Merle ran off to Atlanta.

It was too early for Merle to argue however and he only waved him off, sitting up on the couch and rubbing his hands on his face. Daryl observed his brother...a shadow of a shadow, in a way. He hadn't seen Merle at all while he was in Atlanta; while he'd known Andrea. Daryl had never even met her. But when Merle returned he was different; he was the shadow of whatever man he'd been in Atlanta and although Merle was a master of repression and he managed to put up a good front, Daryl could see the cracks in his armor sometimes. He never acknowledged it because he didn't want to; didn't want to understand something that had changed _Merle, _of all people, so drastically but now he was half way towards the front door of his apartment and he stopped in his tracks and awkwardly cleared his throat.

"When you met Andrea, what was it like?" He figured there was no delicate way to move into the topic, Merle wasn't one for tact, so he just asked; simple and straightforward. His brother glanced up at him, "did it...feel different?"

Merle, ever perceptive, glanced down at his wrist. "You meet that poor bitch or something?"

He chewed on his bottom lip and debated the truth for a minute and then shook his head 'no' once. "Just askin'."

"What? We just gonna sit and braid each other's hair and talk about our feelings Darylina?" There was Merle's sardonic humor in the question, laced with a bite that Daryl could have interpreted as grief.

"Forget I asked," he mumbled and started reaching for the door handle but Merle called out.

"Hey," He stopped but didn't turn to face him. "It was good. It was...like things weren't gonna be shit for once."

Daryl almost turned to look at his brother, "Boy was I wrong, huh?" he finished with a humorless laugh.

Daryl nodded once towards him and walked out of the apartment.

* * *

><p>Rick Grimes prided himself in being pragmatic. His job wasn't the easiest in such a small town and he always trusted his instinct to make the right call without emotions getting in the way. It sounded a little cold, however, for him to refer to his marriage as following the same formula but sometimes he couldn't describe it any other way. His relationship with Lori had always been about doing what was right; what was sensible over the impulsive.<p>

The _sensitive _thing would have been for him to let Lori go, for them to accept that in their heart of hearts they would never _really _be right for each other and learn to move on.

The _sensible _thing had been to marry her at the age of 23 when she wandered into the apartment he shared with Shane near the police academy and she quietly told him she was pregnant.

That had been 15 years ago.

15 years, two children, one dog and a mini van later and he'd all but forgotten about the mark that had once been on his wrist. Almost. Sometimes he wondered if Lori had just barely forgotten too or if there were days when the thought of that other person fought it's way into her brain and dug its heels in, refusing to leave for hours or days at a time.

Moments like those he wished he could say something; ask questions or just voice his concerns. But it seemed like the wrong topic to bring up with Lori (_"Do you ever wonder if we would have been happier with our soulmates?" -_That could never end well) and if he was perfectly honest, he didn't really have all that many friends. Shane was someone who was defaulted into the role of his best friend after having spent their entire lives together and he wasn't someone who was overly concerned with the topic of soulmates; having far too much fun living the life of the perpetual bachelor. Daryl Dixon was the closest Rick had to an actual friend, someone that _he _trusted and liked and not by seniority like Shane or by association like all the people he knew from Lori's social circle. But Daryl was also fiercely private, quiet and shy and judging by the awkward shuffles he did when Rick so much as glanced in the direction of his wrist, he knew the topic was off limits. He'd never actually gotten a chance to read the name there; it was short and the script was small and he never did stare long enough to make out the letters but he figured if Daryl was ever comfortable enough to speak about it, he would come out and do so on his own.

Rick was therefore faced with day after day of swallowing down the questions he had about his situation; of wondering if he'd made a mistake or not. Perhaps that might have been a bit unfair to Lori; to think of their marriage as a mistake. Lori was a good woman. She was a good mother and a good wife and they had a good life together. So like every other day when the nagging feelings in the back of his mind started hounding him, he pushed them all down and threw himself into his work, knowing he made the right decision when he caught a glimpse of the photograph sitting on his desk; a picture of him with his arm around Carl at his soccer game. Rick had chosen his family and when it came down to it, he knew he'd make the same choice all over again.

A soft knock on his office door tore him away from his thoughts and he glanced up from his desk.

"Come in."

The door creaked open to reveal Beth Greene, who was standing in his doorway looking worried and Rick immediately mimicked her features.

"Everything ok, Beth? Your dad alright?"

The truth was, with Shawn married and Maggie living in Atlanta most of the week for school, Rick worried about Beth and Hershel; all alone on that farm after Annette's death.

"Daddy's doing just fine," Beth answered sending him a hesitant smile. "I was actually wondering if I could ask you something; a favor."

Rick frowned but ushered her into his office. "Of course. Sit down."

"It's about..." she sighed and fiddled with the bracelets at her wrist, refusing to meet his eye. "that man at the party yesterday. Daryl?" She finally looked up at him when she spoke the name and Rick nodded his head slowly, trying to follow along.

"Yeah, what about him?"

"I was wondering if you knew where I could find him," she said it all in one breath, as if afraid she'd lose her nerve.

Rick stared at her in confusion for what _could_ have been a solid ten minutes; he honestly couldn't tell at that point, his mind far too busy trying to wrap itself around what Beth Greene could possibly want from Daryl Dixon.

"Is there something you need?...Something I can help with?" He finished hesitantly.

"I just wanted to talk to him."

"Car problems?" He tried to rationalize. Mostly everyone in town knew Daryl was a mechanic; Rick began guessing that perhaps Beth needed his help with the used Toyota she'd bought the summer before. That would certainly explain away the oddity of it all; but she was already shaking her head and looking at him strangely.

"No. I just..." she sighed and pursed her lips as if she was already revealing too much information. "It's...personal."

Rick would be lying if he said his stomach didn't drop at those words and the thousands of scenarios that ran through his mind; most of them ending with Hershel running Daryl off his farm with a shot gun in hand. He'd known Daryl Dixon for a long time. He knew he was a quiet, grumpy sort of fellow but with a good heart and always good intentions. As far as Rick knew, Daryl didn't even _know_ the youngest Greene daughter and yet Beth had walked into his office speaking so secretively that Rick couldn't help but wonder if maybe he'd missed something entirely; Lori _was_ always accusing him of things going over his head.

Beth was young and pretty, Daryl had the whole strong, silent thing going for him; and in such a small town far more scandalous things had happened that the idea of the sweet farmer's daughter and the rough redneck having a fling really didn't seem that farfetched to Rick's mind. Maybe it didn't even go that far. Maybe Beth was just harboring a crush for the older man or maybe, he reasoned, it could be nothing at all and he was just imagining the inflection and the nervousness Beth spoke with; as if she'd been caught doing something wrong. Whether or not he was right, he'd be damned if he was going to play any part in leading Beth to a man twice her age who barely spoke above grunts and monosyllables -even if he was his best friend. After all, he'd have Hershel to answer to.

"Beth, I don't know that that's a good idea. Your father-"

"I'm not a child, Rick. I'm nearly twenty years old; I don't need my dad's permission for everything and-" she cut herself off and continued playing with her bracelets a little more aggressively than before, before decidedly slipping them off one at a time and tossing them onto his desk with a loud clanking of beads.

"I need to talk to him," she said when the final bracelet was off and she held out her wrist for him to see. The first thing his eyes landed on was the jagged scar across her wrist that made his heart ache a little at what Lori had told him she'd found when she'd managed to break Beth's bathroom door open nearly 4 years ago. But then his eyes landed on the name and even upside down he could read it perfectly.

"Beth..." he whispered, more than a little incredulously as what all this _meant _slowly hit him. Daryl. Of all the names in the world, there in a messy tilted scrawl, was Daryl's name. It'd been so long since he himself had looked to his wrist and seen a name, he'd nearly forgotten what it was all about. Of course, he still didn't really know the feeling of it, of finding them or being around them, but seeing _Daryl_'s name on the porcelain skin of a girl he'd known her whole life knocked the wind out of him a little, if he was being honest. Beth with _Daryl. _He suddenly felt as if he needed to reevaluate everything he thought he knew about his friend. If Beth's name was the one he never could get a chance to read on him, that is.

"It may not be him," he said gently. He didn't really know if he was saying it to Beth or to himself. Somewhere in his mind that seemed like a real possibility; he couldn't think of two people that were less alike.

"It's him," Beth responded quietly, eyes trained on the top of his desk as she pushed around the discarded beaded bracelets. "I saw his mark last night at Judy's party. Before he...ran away."

"So he knows?"

She nodded in response.

Not two minutes prior, he'd decided to refuse Beth any information about Daryl for the sake of propriety. If it was a one sided crush or a mutual attraction, he'd wanted to save everyone any uncomfortable confrontations (mainly with Hershel Greene) later on. Now, with Beth staring at him with wide blue eyes and an expression on her face that made Rick feel like he had just kicked Bambi, he had definitely reconsidered.

With a sigh he reached over and grabbed a pad of paper and a pen, and he genuinely didn't know if he was doing more harm or good since he was thoroughly misinformed about the science of soulmates. Were they supposed to find each other by chance? Was he _supposed _to be helping? Was he meddling with the universe's divine plan or whatever it was that was the power at work that brought soulmates together?

He continued writing an address on the piece of paper, deciding that whatever forces made two people come together, Beth and Daryl would need all of them at work.

Beth Greene: with all her sunshine smiles and sweetness -the girl literally _baked sweets _for a living and the thought of some of that rubbing off on a surly Daryl Dixon made him start, just slightly so, seeing the sense in the two.

"He works at this car shop downtown; he should be there today until 6 or 7."

Beth eagerly took the piece of paper from him with a 'thanks' and started standing.

"If you could not mention this to anyone for a little while, I'd really appreciate it," she said half way through the door. "I just wanna get to know him first," she gave him a small smile and Rick couldn't help but return it.


End file.
